


Walk the Streets

by dovine



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Romance, F/M, Large Cast, New York, Organized Crime, Out of Character, Prostitution, Romance, Slow Burn, percabeth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovine/pseuds/dovine
Summary: After years of prostitution in the city, Annabeth is offered a deal from a strange businessman.Rated M for adult themes and depictions of strong language, violence, and sexuality.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36
Collections: Discord Community Archive





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my original fic Walk the Streets on FFN under the username JinSun. I started it in 2013 but stopped updating in 2015 for a variety of reasons. That being said, I want to take a stab at finishing the story in the way that I always imagined, this time with better writing skills and some general maturity. There will be serious adult themes throughout the fic, so please be aware of that if it is a problem for you. I will be uploading chapters of about 3,000 to 5,000 words as often as I can. Do not expect frequent updates because I am a grad student but do expect fulfilling updates because small ones are just summaries with extra steps. All characters are over the age of 18 unless otherwise specified.  
> Yes, Walk the Streets is definitely OOC and yes, it unintentionally derives creative inspiration from the 1990 romantic comedy, Pretty Woman. I’m original, I swear. Please feel free to leave a comment since I love reading them.

Muggy August air and the droning of cicadas enveloped Annabeth on her walk from the Natural History Museum down to her hole-in-the-wall apartment off 85th and 1st. Apartment was probably an overstatement given the fact that even those rat’s nests were usually equipped with 24/7 running water and an actual stovetop, but she’d grown fond of her Bunsen burner and no water meant no flooding. The walk wasn’t long, just under two miles if she cut across the grass and avoided dog poop. Nothing like cleaning digested kibbles off your only pair of sneakers in 95-degree weather.

Even if she had stepped in dog poo, the walk would have been well worth it, since Tuesdays were Annabeth’s only free day to do what she wanted without having to worry about a client calling. Of course, she almost always spent them doing the same thing, studiously engaged with piles of books at the library or ogling in wonder at massive petrified tree rings from the days of pioneers. The week’s pent-up stress would melt away like the ice cream bars sold to little kids and crusty business executives along Central Park West, and just for a tiny isolated moment, she could pretend she was someone else. Those old worn pages and seemingly infinite sap rings never failed to completely capture her imagination. So much possibility existed in the world of books and science that Annabeth often felt as though she could spend the rest of her life reading and still never scratch the surface. Her favorite subject, even back in the nightmare that was public school, was always science class. The unit on architecture and physics seemed like such an amazing concept, to be able to build something huge, something so undeniably grand that would last forever. She wished she could afford to go to school as an adult.

Sweat streaked down her flushed cheeks as she huffed her way across Central Park. Families with children cooled off in the shade while others trudged along the path in their workout gear. One guy even sat in business suit on a park bench with the sun beating down on him. She knew it was supposed to be high 90s and humid all week, but it was the one day she could wear jeans and baggy clothing instead of her usual slutty getup. Laced heels and miniskirts do not make for appropriate artifact viewing, but sweaters and old jeans were practically made for it. The added benefit of course was that no one was staring at her like a slab of meat up for sale. She’d even tied her long blonde curls into a ponytail and threw on the old Yankees cap she’d had since she was twelve. Even though that faded cap was practically a part of her body at this point, she could never remember where she got it. It definitely had something to do with her mother’s side of the family. Then again, she had no idea what her mother even looked like.

Memory lapses were common for Annabeth, and the absence of her mother was hardly the most shocking of all. Her childhood was littered with incredibly strange if not hypnotic moments of obscurity. Some she could chalk up to her diagnosed ADHD as lapses in attention, but others simply made no sense even in retrospect. One moment watching a murder of crows, the next in a hospital wing with a stern looking nurse peering down over her pointed nose. Nodding off while taking a test then waking up crying in a storm drain. This doesn’t even begin to cover her frequent and troubled experiences with spiders. The teachers were no help and always seemed to blame these occurrences on Annabeth, despite her inability to explain why or how they had happened, despite her being a child and they adults.

Still, even those lapses in memory were preferable to the ones she had as an adult. Not all clients were willing to play by the rules, and she had learned long ago to never accept drinks she didn’t make herself. Those moments were less frequent ever since her move away from the Bronx and into Manhattan, no doubt due to the shift in clientele, but the memories, or lack thereof, did not stay with her old apartment.

The loud sounds of the city brought Annabeth back to the present. August was a good time to walk the streets, even in the heat. The swarms of loud tourists typical of the vacation months were dying down and the beating sun meant that only the most resilient locals would crowd the sidewalks. Even on the stretch of 5th Avenue lined with hot dog stands, roasted nut carts, and “I ♥ New York” shirt stands, she had more than enough room to freely swing her arms.

Annabeth was just about to cross the street when she noticed a man about twenty yards back glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. It was the same guy from the park, the one roasting in the sun in a full business suit. He looked somewhat young, maybe a few years older than her, but his hair was jet black and tousled, especially in the humidity. His suit was dark blue and slim, probably some young business intern fresh out of college or a rich heir to the city’s ever-growing billionaire class. Realizing he’d been caught looking, he slipped on a pair of shades and walked off the way they came.

Creepy… she thought. Unwelcome and uncomfortable stares were the name of the game in her line of work, but usually only when she was in her “work attire.” A baggy sweater, jeans, and a raggedy baseball cap were hardly the definition of sexy, and it usually let her lay low and unnoticed. Whatever he had wanted, it clearly wasn’t appropriate for daytime in public. I’ll have to keep a better eye out on my next walk, she thought, dreading the idea of her off day becoming just as unpleasant as the rest of the week. I’d better make a detour so he doesn’t find out where I live.  
The Yorkville Library was just down the street and only a couple of blocks away from her apartment. The plastered Art Deco style reminded Annabeth of the old black and white movies she used to watch with her dad about the building of Manhattan, or even King Kong. It wasn’t the biggest library in the city, not by far, but it was one of her favorite places to spend her free time. Sometimes she just couldn’t take it in her cramped apartment anymore and needed a place to breath. The library also served as a wonderful place to hide from any and all creepers who insisted on following her home, as police frequented the area and some of the staff knew her face well.

One such person was an older woman with brilliant silver hair and stormy grey eyes, not unlike her own. Annabeth always looked for her, but it seemed as if the old lady only ever showed up once every couple of weeks or so. Despite this, she always made an effort to offer Annabeth a book recommendation and ask her what she thought about the last one. She looked forward to those moments, even if she was a little intimidated by the woman.

Annabeth walked up the steps and swung open the large wooden doors. The usual after school group of kids loitered around tables, chatting and playing games on the library’s computers. Some of the front desk librarians nodded at her, and people wandered through the aisles, eager to escape from the brutal afternoon heat. A long line of people streamed out of the café in the back, most just there to buy a smoothie or have an excuse to use the bathroom. Annabeth couldn’t really blame them since she wasn’t there to read either; the books she had just checked out last week were still unfinished on the floor next to her bed. She peered over at the nonfiction desk and saw the familiar silver hair tied in a tight bun furiously typing away on what looked like a several different screens at once.

Must be the heat, she thought to herself.

“Hello Ms. Barn,” Annabeth said.

The librarian looked up from her work but continued to type all the same. “Hello Ms. Chase. I believe you were here last Tuesday. Have you finished your books already? What did you think of Drawing for Architects? Did you understand the part about lateral trellises? You took notes I assume, yes?”

Annabeth twisted her fingers at her waist. “Oh, umm…no, sorry. I just came in to say hello, sorry.” She felt like she was apologizing too much, but the fiery look from the librarian made her itch, as if she was still in high school and didn’t do her homework. She wasn’t prepared for the barrage of questions about something that was merely a hobby.

Ms. Barn paused and stared at her for a few moments before turning back to her work, the clickity-clack of the keyboard ringing through the library.

Annabeth shifted nervously at the desk, wondering if she should leave or say something else. She decided on the later. “I just wanted to say thanks for giving me recommendations and all, you know. Not many people I know read.” She paused, uncertain of where to go next. “Sorry, I just appreciate it is all, thanks.”

The old librarian nodded but didn’t say anything. It was as if she was upset or somehow disappointed that Annabeth hadn’t finished the books she’d been given, which annoyed her since it had only been a week and she hardly had any time to do anything, much less study architectural books. Realizing that the conversation was over whether she wanted it to be or not, Annabeth quickly walked away, accidentally bumping into the side of a cart of books and spilling them onto the floor.

“I’m so sorry! Sorry, I’ll clean them up right away!” she said, frantically grabbing at the books. It was embarrassing enough being cold-shouldered by the one librarian she knew, and Annabeth wasn’t eager to continue the trend. She shoved the rest of the books onto the cart, and without looking back, swept out of the library onto 79th Street and hurried down the pavement towards her apartment. Her cheeks flushed bright red, but hopefully the people just thought it was the heat.

After a few blocks, she slowed her pace to catch her breath. Why was she so cold to me? It’s not like I’ve ever finished a book in that time. She sighed and plopped down on a bench. A portly woman walking her chihuahua sauntered down the street talking loudly into a Bluetooth earpiece about business deals and pricing. What a lousy way to end the day. Annabeth lifted her cap and ran her fingers through her hair, hoping a breeze might cool her head. She liked the advantages of the baggy clothing, but even she had limits in the blazing heat of an August afternoon. The asphalt from the road radiated up at her, and the exhaust from cars stifled the already swampy air. One less person who doesn’t judge me, she thought.

Just as she was about to get up, she felt a tingle down her spine, like someone was watching her but didn’t want to be seen. Annabeth whirled around, twisting her neck to glance at the trees and patios. From the edge of her vision she saw him. It was the same man in the suit from earlier, this time standing by a black sedan, his eyes obscured by his sunglasses and a newspaper in his hands. She knew better than to think it was a coincidence, but it was impossible that he’d found her so quickly. Annabeth was sure she wasn’t followed all the way to the library, but if she ignored him, she risked being followed home. The only option was to confront him in broad daylight with as many people around as possible, and with the summer sun still high in the sky, now was her only opportunity to protect herself.

Approaching him didn’t feel like approaching the usual crowd of creeps she would confront. Maybe it was because it was broad daylight, or maybe it was because the man was dressed nice enough to attend a formal ball, but either way it was unsettling. He hadn’t looked up from the newspaper although Annabeth had already crossed the street and was only a few feet away. She stopped at arm’s-length, enough room to run for it but close enough that she could identify his face in case an officer needed to draw it later.

“Stop. Fucking. Following. Me.” she said using her best commanding voice. She didn’t want it to sound haughty or mean, since the sort of psychopaths that stalk women tend to be loose cannons in general. She knew the best thing to do was to acknowledge the stalking and confront them about it. That was the advice of the social workers she’d met in the past, and it usually worked. The second option was bear-grade pepper spray.

The man looked up from his paper and knit his brows, a look of general confusion and panic on his face. “Oh no, I wasn’t trying to—"

“Do not follow me home, do not talk to me, do not come anywhere near me,” she continued feeling more confident. “The next time I see you, I will call the cops and tell them you’ve been following me for days.”

Annabeth knew the NYPD was borderline useless in terms of daily reports like this, but the threat of arrest or a permanent record was usually enough to scare off most people, and she figured it had to work for business execs just as it would for anyone else. The guy seemed petty worried anyway, judging from his nervous glances and body language. Still, there was something remarkably off about the way he held himself and spoke, as if he was intensely confident in what he was doing. Yea, I bet he is. Fucking creep, she thought.

“I’m so sorry, I truly didn’t mean to come off that way,” he said again, opening his palms to her as some sort of peace offering. “I am definitely, one hundred percent, not stalking you or trying to do anything wrong here.” He pulled his glasses off, revealing a pair of sea-green eyes framed by dark brows and high cheek bones. She hadn’t been able to tell up close, but the man was incredibly good looking, especially when compared to the usual scrawny or out-of-shape businessmen that polluted the streets of Manhattan. Even under his suit she could tell his frame was large and his shoulders broad. He might not have been the biggest guy, but Annabeth pegged him for being athletic in college, maybe a runner or swimmer.

That being said, there was no way Annabeth was going to let down her guard to a half-baked apology like that. “Yea, okay, sure. You just happened to see me earlier and creepily walk away. You just happened to show up outside the library that I just happened to have exited. I’ve met a lot of liars. You’re not very good at it.”

She shifted her weight to the back of her heels, feeling a sense of dread at the impending conflict. Definitely not the direction Annabeth anticipated her Tuesday evening plans going.

“No,” he said blankly. The man looked like he was struggling to comprehend what was happening. “I have a job offer with a company I run, that’s all, I just didn’t know how to approach you about it.”

Annabeth shuddered at what she imagined a job offer from the creep could be. “So I’m to believe that you so graciously picked me among all the possible New Yorkers in this city for a job for your company, randomly, and that it wasn’t you being creepy, it was just you respecting me and wanting to approach me the right way, is that right?”

“Yes, exactly,” he said, his face lighting up in sudden relief.

“You’re an actual idiot. I’m calling the cops,” she said, taking a step back and whipping out her phone. It wasn’t like her to lose her temper in situations like this, but the guy was being particularly insufferable.

The man frowned at the insult like a kid. “Look, I think we just got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “My name is Percy. Percy Jackson. I own several companies but the one you’d be interested in is a security management firm. I have a business card and everything.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a shiny white card with a large orange square.

Annabeth hesitantly reached out for the card and glanced at it. Everything looked legitimate, but it wasn’t exactly rocket science to print business cards these days. “What’s CHB stand for?”

“Oh right. Control Holding Board. CHB operates in a number of fields and so we use the company as a sort of management system to allow the other branches to flourish and do their jobs efficiently. Probably won’t mean much to you anyway since the job is under a subset company,” he said, shrugging.

Even his response seemed pretty well thought out, but that didn’t do much to ease her fears. If anything, the line could have been rehearsed beforehand. And what kind of name was Percy? Annabeth didn’t like the look of him or his incredibly suspicious offer. He hadn’t even told her what the job was.

“Look, no offense, but you’ve made me really uncomfortable and I need you to leave.,” she said. “Please don’t contact me or come by here again or I really will call the police and file a report.” She turned on her heel and began walking back to the bench.

“Alright well, sorry again,” he said, sounding somewhat frustrated. “I’d rather you didn’t do that, so let’s just say you declined my offer.” He folded the newspaper and tossed into the open window of his car. “You have my business card if you change your mind.”

Annabeth watched him drive away, memorizing his license plate number just in case. It seemed that confronting him was the right idea, but the whole incident seemed really unlike other confrontations in the past. The shiny white card glittered in the dying light of the afternoon sun, the letters CHB etched into the card and her mind. What a vague name for a company, she thought. Nothing good can come from secrecy like that.

Annabeth tucked the card away into her jeans pocket and walked down the street toward her apartment, unaware of the gravity of the offer just presented to her.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did warn you. COVID happened (is still happening), and my job relates directly to the pandemic and its litany of problems, so while I had no intention of frequent updates, I did intend to upload a new chapter several months ago. Thanks for waiting patiently, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The end of summer went much the same as the beginning: hot, humid, and all too quickly. It had been several weeks since her unwelcome encounter with the man in the suit, and Annabeth had all but forgotten him and his card. By September, the days waned shorter and the damp heat that rolled off sticky pavement was long gone. It was perhaps the one month of the year when people actually chose what they wanted to wear instead of the weather deciding for them. All but Annabeth, of course. Her uniform rarely changed. Summer was almost always a better situation though, since she could at least pretend her fishnets and micro-skirts were fashion statements to beat the heat rather than a form of employment. It wasn’t like people ogled her everywhere she went, but it only took one.

In fact, she often felt lucky for her living situation. She couldn’t imagine having to do what she did in any other city, in any other culture. People here were assholes, but they were assholes that respected personal privacy. Bump into some briefcase-carrying exec with too big a paycheck to match his too-big gut? Better be prepared to hear some choice four-letter words. But walk down the street in full drag and a healthy bulge? Not a problem. That’s the rule in the city. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don’t involve me.

No, it wasn’t the looks that made her hate the work. It wasn’t even the work, usually. It was the fact that Annabeth knew she was more than that. Normal whores didn’t study advanced calculus or read up on the Teutonic Knights during lunch. She hated wasting her potential, degrading herself for money when she knew she could do better. That was the question that people always asked when they found out her profession. “Well why don’t you just do something else?” How? With what money, what job experience, what formal education? How was she supposed to compete with college grads half a decade younger with infinitely more experience?

Annabeth paced aimlessly near her usual corner bodega. She hadn’t meant to get herself so worked up, but there was absolutely nothing to do when waiting for a client, especially so early in the evening. Usually she’d chat with the other girls on the street, ask about their kids, listen to the endless drama about who took which corner and why it was a bitch move. Today was Monday though, one of the slower in the week, so she had only her pouting mind for company. She wished it were tomorrow already.

From afar she could hear the rumbling of her employer’s most prized car. Not exactly the distraction Annabeth was hoping for, but at least he was less violent than her last pimp. The white Toyota Super Charger screeched around a corner and pulled up in front of the bodega. It was probably the single most riced car in all of New York, complete with tacky floor lights, a protruding engine, and windows so tinted it was a miracle he made it two blocks without getting pulled over. 

“Hey, there she is,” her pimp said, stepping out of the car. He flashed her a toothy grin, showing off a gilded canine. His blonde hair was greased back smoothly, a look that suited his slacks and untucked short-sleeve button-down well.

“Luke,” she said indifferently. 

“How’s my star prize? Good? How’s business? How many clients tonight?” he asked.

Annabeth nervously glanced at the people walking past, hoping nobody caught on to what he was implying.

Luke noticed and gave her a knowing look. “Come on now, you know nobody cares. Plus, the pigs in this hood are ours, remember?” He rapped his knuckles against the hood of the car, prompting his partner in crime to step out. Ethan was a second-generation Japanese American covered in graphic tattoos. His parents were extremely conservative.

Luke’s eye twitched as the man slammed shut the door and stepped up to the curb. “I’m goin’ in, you want some smokes or an Icee?”

Luke waved him away and pulled Annabeth to the side. “So really, how’s business lately? You met anyone I should know about?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She flicked her long blonde curls back and pretended to be distracted by some people across the street.

He stepped closer, nearly whispering now. He smelled like a mix of cigar smoke and expensive perfume. “You know, any associates of mine. Maybe some interesting businessmen I’d be glad to meet? I know you’ve got the body to attract those old fucks, don’t tell me you’re turning them down.”

He grabbed her chest and squeezed, even as people glanced by on their commutes home. 

Annabeth carefully pulled away, trying not to make it obvious what he was doing.

“Listen,” he said, grinning at her discomfort. “We all have our role to play in this world. Those senile bags of wrinkly shit need loving too. I know what you can do with those lips of yours, so make sure their needs are met for me, huh?”

She shivered at his tone. It was gross enough having to hear the sleazy shit her customers told her, but Luke was always the master at making her feel disgusting. “I don’t turn down money, you know that.”

He pulled out a cigar stub and lit it with a spark from an old matchbox. “True, you do have an eye for them, I’ll give you that.” He took a long drag of the woody smoke, puffing it out in rings. “I want you to do me a favor then.”

She shifted her weight nervously. Favors for her was debt. Favors for him was law. “I’m not walking off the island. I told you I don’t like it there.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the quiver in her voice.

Luke waved away the smoke and shook his head. “Of course not, you said no so it’s a no.”

She’d said no and she’d been answered with a jab to her ribs. Couldn’t hit her face, that’s where the money was.

He leaned down so she could smell the stink of the cigar on his breath. “I just need you to keep an eye on your clients that’s all. Think of it like customer service. You’re getting to know them, what they like, what they say. You understand, right kiddo?”

Annabeth could tolerate the sexual harassment from him, or rather had to, but she hated being spoken to like an idiot. Unfortunately, to reveal otherwise would be to allow him into her personal life. She wasn’t sure Luke even knew she could read.  
“I guess,” she said. “But…why? Who am I looking for?”

“What, are you too good for it?” he laughed, slapping her ass. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head with that. And don’t give me the useless shit, alright? High stakes only, you hear? Good.” He stamped out his cigar and kicked it into the street. “Do have fun tonight.”

Luke grabbed Ethan who was loitering around a group of homeless men begging for smack. He gave her a wink before hopping back in his ricer and blasting down the road and out of sight.

A year ago, Annabeth would have panicked after what had just transpired, but these days it felt practically common place. Luke had seemed so normal then, like a real businessman despite the nature of the work. He changed fast, or maybe more accurately he decided to show her his true colors. She could still remember when his cheeky smile meant reassurance instead of an impending grab to the ass. Still, despite his degeneracy, he paid better than her last pimp, and his clients were usually of a higher grade. 

Before she could linger in her thoughts too long, another car pulled up in front of her corner. For a moment she thought Luke was back to give her more obscure directions, or maybe to cop another feel, but the man who stepped out of the car was the same one from a couple of weeks ago. She almost wished Luke and Ethan were back. Almost.

He was dressed in a suit again, this time dark grey. With the same apprehensive look on his face as last time, he walked over to Annabeth. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said, scowling at his presence.

“I was just in the neighborhood and you looked familiar, thought I’d stop by,” he said.

“Oh!” she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster. “You just happened to be uptown at 11:30 at night and just happened to see me standing here. Well now, that’s an explanation that just about covers everything.”

Percy frowned and scratched his chin. “You’ve very rude, you know.”

“Heaven forbid,” she bit back.

“I just need to know if you had a chance to think about the job offer, that’s all. Nothing nefarious about that. I would have called but we don’t have your number, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she said. “Well Prissy, I just have to be honest with you. I don’t believe you. I don’t think your investment or whatever company is real. I think you’re a human trafficker. I think that if I went with you, at any time of day, I would be sold as a slave or dead within a few hours. Please fuck off.”

The night was not going well. She turned and walked away, hoping to lose him and possibly find Luke before she really did end up gagged in the back of a van, but he followed her anyway.

“First of all, it’s Percy,” he said. “Secondly, it’s a holding company not an investment company. Our subsidiaries invest, we just manage.”

“Don’t care, not interested.” Annabeth was starting to worry about his persistence, especially since it was clear he was having her followed.

“We pay well though, great benefits and—”

She wheeled around at him, her purse slamming against his side. He smelled rich, or at least what her rich clients usually smelled like. Pressed suit cloth, top-shelf cologne, and that unmistakable yet unidentifiable smell of power. The man was loaded, no doubt. Oddly, underneath all that she could just barely make out the smell of the ocean, like he had just come from a day sailing in the bay. Still, that was no reason to trust him.

“Seriously, this is the last time I tell you. Get the fuck away from me, and leave me the fuck alone,” she said. “I don’t know who you are or what your sick problem is, but I’m not a part of it. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to have to tell my boss.” Clearly threatening with the police had not worked, so Annabeth hoped he was smart enough to figure her boss meant trouble. 

Percy pursed his lips and slowly nodded his head, unsure of how to continue. “I just really think you’re qualified for the job.”

“Unbelievable,” she said, reaching for her phone.

He reflexively held out his hands, taking a step back. “Easy there, just…” He looked worn out. “What can I say that will convince you?”

“How about some fucking honesty for starters.” She held the phone ready with Luke’s number on screen. Annabeth wasn’t eager for him to come back, but there was little choice if he was going to pressure. “Why me?”

Percy folded his arms and frowned at the ground. “I’m not sure how much I should say,” he said after a moment. “Let’s just chalk it up to a matter of networking.”

Annabeth couldn’t help but laugh in his face. “So, what, you want to join a gang? Is that it? Or are you some reject trust-fund baby with a synth addiction and now you need a reliable fix?” 

“Do I look like that?” he said. 

“No,” she said admittedly. “But you can’t expect me to accept an equally vague answer to an already vague proposition.”

“You mentioned your boss like it was a threat. I’d like to know more about him—or, well, CHB would like to know more about him.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Annabeth realized the threat he posed. Human trafficking was already a red flag for serious organized crime, but she figured it was her tits not her boss that attracted him to her. If Percy knew who Luke was, then this was well out of her field. 

“Sorry, but I’m not that close with him,” she said dismissively. “I think you should leave.” 

He noticed her withdrawal. “Don’t pull back, please. You asked for honesty, and I’ve given you what I can. I’m not trying to upset you. I just think you’d be a lot happier with us.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Annabeth found the idea of a sympathetic criminal rather amusing. 

“What?” she said. “So I can climb the corporate ladder? You’re either with the government or some other syndicate, and frankly, whether I sell myself on this corner or on Boardwalk Fucking Avenue makes no difference to me.” Annabeth tried to hide the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. 

“Who says anything about that?” Percy said. “I’m offering you a desk job, nothing more nothing less. You would work in midtown, pretty close to the UN building. No streets, no weird hours, no whoring.”

“Promises are easy to make,” she said, digging through her tiny purse for a tissue. “Also easy to break.”

“I’ll give you fifty thousand in cash right now if you accept the job offer.”

Annabeth’s breath caught in her throat. Fifty thousand was life changing money. It meant moving away, going to school, living in an apartment big enough for a human being.

No, that wasn’t right.

Fifty thousand from the lottery or dropped from god’s rosy red ass right into her lap meant her life would change. Fifty thousand from Percy meant indentured servitude, a ball and chain to this lifestyle, and danger once Luke found out. There was no normal life when someone like him offered money.

“Fifty thousand won’t do much good when I’m floating down the East in a body bag.”

“Sixty thousand then,” he urged.

“Did you think it was a matter of amount?” She looped the purse around her shoulder. “I don’t want your money.”

“Then a contract,” he offered. “A short-term legal document where at the end of it you get the fifty thousand and we never contact you again.”

Annabeth had to give him credit for his persistence. “As if the word legal means anything to you.” She paused, glancing down the street. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here. If Luke comes back he’ll kill you.”

Percy sighed, his windswept jet-black hair dancing in the breeze. “If you say so.” He stepped back onto the street, looking into her eyes under the glow of the lamps. “But please think about it this time, seriously. Not many girls like you get offers like this.”

He was right. Most girls like her had a meth addiction before their second child. 

He reached out and put another card in her hand, this one with a phone number gilded into it. “If I don’t hear from you by the end of the week, then I’ll assume it’s a no.”

“It was already a no, genius,” but she slipped the card into her back pocket anyway. 

“Well, goodbye then.”

Annabeth watched him drive away. It was barely midnight, but it felt like it had been hours since the night started. She was exhausted and afraid, yet there were still clients to find if she were to avoid punishment from Luke. Annabeth pulled out her phone, hoping some of her online profiles had attracted an easy customer for the night. In-calls were more expensive, so it helped weed out the unhygienic.

Two missed calls. One from an unknown number, one from a semi-regular client. She had him tagged as a femdom fetishist, or in other words, an easy night.

Shaking the evening’s events out of her mind, Annabeth walked toward the subway, eager to end her night early.


	3. Part 3

Annabeth slipped her miniskirt back on, abandoning the leather outfit for her usual getup. She never knew why leather was considered sexy to some. It smelled when wet, was abrasive in all the wrong ways, and made movement stiff if the quality was poor, which it often was. Then again, leather was a rather mundane fetish compared to the requests she received from the more eccentric of her customer base. A rash seemed a small price to pay.

One such individual slept loudly out on the gallery. He was a regular for Annabeth, a rich business type among a million rich business types. There was nothing particularly interesting about him save his wealth. He was flabby, wrinkled even for his age, and smelled like vapor rub. The words that droned out of his mouth could put to sleep Cerberus himself, and for that he was alone. There was likely more to that story, but Annabeth wisely never broached the subject. A submissive he called himself, but the cruelty behind his eyes once playtime was over revealed a perversion deeper than Annabeth hoped to delve. She didn’t expect much from Wall Street execs, but this one’s depravity went deeper. So far, he had kept his meaner traits on lock.

She stepped over to the usual dresser, expecting to find a wad of hundreds stuffed neatly under his cufflink box. None this time. She would have to prod it out of him, not unlike their earlier business.

“Forget again?” she called from the bedroom.

His snoring continued from the balcony, asleep already despite having just finished.

“I need my tip before I can go, is it somewhere else this time?” she said. “Hello?”

“Mmm,” he grumbled.

She carefully stood out on the balcony, the view of the city breathtaking as always. Lights, sounds, smells, all of it presented before her like a show designed specifically for her tastes. Her favorite, the Chrysler, gleamed golden in the night sky. Whatever her memories of the city, whatever evil people inhabited its golden towers and filthy alleys, nothing could change its beauty. Her client seemed to disagree.

“What?” he said, shortly.

“I need to go. Do you have the tip?” she repeated for the third time.

“I don’t have cash darling, I’ll pay you double next time, yeah?”

He rubbed his eyes and sank further into the lounger. A bottle of open scotch rested precariously between his thigh and the open air. A single nudge would spill thousands onto thirstless pavement. How easily they wasted.

Annabeth sighed, hoping to avoid confrontation like this by crutching on annoyance. Most people could be guilted into payment one way or another, and it had happened with him before.

“You know I can’t do that. Luke will have my head you know.” She invoked his name for the fear it often commanded.

He shrugged. “Tell him I’m sorry but I don’t have cash. I’ve got meetings in the morning, why don’t you just come back tomorrow. Actually, scratch that. Come back on Wednesday. I’m busy tomorrow.”

“Please, you should know by now what Luke is like. You’ve got to have something lying around. I don’t have the money to cover until then,” she begged. Pleading to someone like him robbed her of dignity, but it was preferable to being robbed of a head. Luke took inspiration from drug lords all over the world.

“I don’t want to hear that from you,” he said a bit louder. “I shouldn’t have to explain why I don’t have cash to a whore. The rest of us use credit cards. Ever heard of one?”

Tears welled up at the corner of her eyes. Just another Monday night for Annabeth. “Can you at least give me 25%? That’s all I need for now.”

The bottle crashed against the floor. “You think I can just conjure up some cash because you put your boo boo eyes on?” He jerked his head towards the door. “Out.”

She mustered up what courage she dared. “I’m not leaving until I get enough money for Luke.” The name appeared to have no impact on him.

“Oh?” he said, softer this time. “Is that so?”

The man slowly pushed himself out of the recliner, swaying slightly under the influence of his drinks. Broken glass littered the floor, the sharp acidity of alcohol stabbing at her eyes in the warm night air. The sounds of the city played on below, ignorant to her plight.

“You won’t, is that right?” He propped himself up against the balcony rail. “And what if I say you will?”

Annabeth took a step back, eyeing her exits. One way or another, this was one less customer for an easy night.

“I just need Luke’s share. I’m begging you, please. There’s got to be a couple thousand lying around here.” Her hands shook behind her back.

“What the fuck would you know about my money, hmm?” He stumbled forward, catching himself on the doorway. “Stupid cunts like you always run their mouths to men like me. How about we call it even considering that scotch was worth what you make in a year, yeah?”

She backed away again, edging towards the door. “If Luke doesn’t get his money, he’ll hurt you.” She would have to resort to threats. It was a risk, but there were fewer and fewer options.

He laughed under his breath, stopping to lean against the wall. “I doubt our mutual friend Luke will have much of an issue with giving me a freebie.”

There it was again. She was something to give. Her body, her pride, her sense of self-worth was currency for these people. In their eyes she was a toy, an object for pleasure and nothing more. She knew why it was so easy for them to laugh at her. She would do the same if her hairbrush suddenly cried woes about its role in her world. But she was not a hairbrush, nor a toy, nor an object to pleasure cruel men. She was a person.

“I don’t care what you think Luke will or won’t do. Pay me,” she demanded. She hoped she sounded braver than she was.

“Fuck off.”

She stood her ground. “Pay me.”

“I’m telling you to fuck off,” he said, anger in his voice.

“No. You bought a service and now you pay for it.” Her voice quivered under stress, but if she gave now, she was screwed either way. She wasn’t so scared of him. It was Luke that would haunt her future should things not work out.

He slammed his fist into the side of the wall. Luxurious paintings shook dangerously above the marble floor.

“I’m not kidding. Get the fuck out of my house before I call someone,” he threatened. The cruelty was back in his eyes.

“Give me my fucking money and then I’ll leave,” she screamed back at him.

He snapped. With two short steps he launched his fist at her rib cage. She felt something snap under the pressure and gasped in surprise. But he wasn’t finished. His body was old and wrinkled, but delusions of grandeur and sheer adrenaline made his fists like iron against foam. Annabeth crumpled to the floor, her side badly bruised from his sudden tantrum. She curled into a ball, heaving to catch her breath from the assault.

He panted above her, swaying forwards and back from exertion and alcohol. “You’re lucky I don’t bash your head in, bitch. I don’t take backtalk from upstart Wall Street babies and I certainly won’t take it from some back-alley dog.” He spit on her, then landed another kick to her side.

She screamed at the pain and instinctively kicked out, connecting her booted heel against the side of his knee. He stumbled and fell back against the doorframe. The back of his head slapped loudly against the wood.

“Stop,” she whimpered. “I’ll—”

“Too fucking late,” he growled. “I’m going to bash in that empty head of yours.”

He launched himself at her again, grabbing Annabeth by the throat and lifting her up against the wall. His breath reeked of stale liquor. She gagged from the pressure around her throat, clawing at his hands. His sweaty gut pressed against her body. She needed a way to incapacitate him long enough to flee, long enough that she could get out before he chased her. She brought her knee up swiftly, catching his stomach and sending them both crashing out onto the balcony. They landed in broken glass, the spilled alcohol burning the tiny open cuts along her arms.

He screamed and tore himself from her, kicking back like a toddler and crawling feverishly up against the railing. She crawled away as fast as she could, keeping her back to the door. They waited a moment to recover. Hate filled his eyes. A few minutes earlier and he was begging to be whipped. Now he intended to kill her. How quickly her clients changed.

His cracked lips spread into a thin smile. “So, what now? You gonna flee? Go hide behind your pimp?” He coughed phlegm onto the patio. “You’re in for a rough surprise girl.”

Annabeth’s jaw was locked tight. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, the pain from glass cuts masked behind its powerful effects. She needed to get away. She needed to hide from this monster’s sick gaze, but more than that, she needed to prepare for the inevitable. One phone call from him would have Luke on her tail within the minute. He would not believe her. She pretended to limp backwards to the door. Her ribs were badly injured, but her legs worked fine. If she could surprise him, she hoped that would allow for a sure exit.

He wasn’t buying it.

“Got somewhere to go?” he mocked. “Surely you’re not going to your next client with tidying up.” He held up his blood-soaked arm. “By my understanding you’ve got a debt to pay.”

Annabeth leaped backwards through the doorway, slamming her shoulder on the frame as she passed. The pain hardly registered. She was fast, but he was under his own adrenaline rush. Much faster than any decrepit old man should be, he grabbed her by the hem of her skirt, yanking her back towards the gallery entrance.

This time she fought back.

Without looking, Annabeth spun and slammed his wrist into the wall with her hand, clumsily kicking back against his chest as hard as she could. Her legs were strong. Maybe it was because she was always running somewhere. Her legs were too strong. A single kick to an old man like him would have bad enough. A single kick that launched him towards a marble patio with blood, alcohol, and glass coating the surface would have been worse.

In slow motion, Annabeth watched the cruelty in the man’s eyes shift quickly to panic. He was moving too fast, there was nothing to grab. His feet were slipping, and he was weak from blood loss. The rail should have been there to serve his benefit, but instead it betrayed him, offering momentum the opportunity to trip and vault him into the colorful abyss below. He screamed and tumbled off the 65th floor of the upper west side high rise, and Annabeth could only watch in horror.

Seconds ticked by like molasses. His screams were washed away by whipping wind and the vibrant sounds of New York.

Annabeth stood and stared through the doorframe at the empty balcony. Her hands shook where they hung suspended, ready to fight nobody. Cold sweat beaded across her forehead in the warm night. She sank down against the wall, unable to cope. She had just killed a man. Within in an hour she’d be as dead as him.

As dead as him.

She vomited on the beautiful, marbled floor.

Annabeth had killed someone. Intentionally or not. Deserving or not. She had killed someone, and it was her fault. She dry heaved with nothing left to throw up.

The adrenaline was wearing off quickly. She needed to get out of there, and fast. She needed a plan, one that would give her time. She estimated it had been about a minute since he’d fallen. It could have been ten for all she knew, but there was no use in wondering. Whether one, ten, or thirty minutes had passed, the police would be there soon enough.

She made her way to the bathroom, fumbling through her bag with shaky fingers. Couldn’t leave the building looking like she did. A quick re-apply to her makeup and some eye drops had her at least presentable, as long as people didn’t look too closely. She’d have to take a jacket of his to hide the vicious cuts along her arms. One with a collar so people didn’t stare at the choke marks around her neck. She wished she were invisible. The mirror showed her a horror-stricken young woman. Her mascara was gone, her eyes were puffy, and red bruises were already forming around her collarbone. She thanked every god imaginable that this happened in New York where no one would care enough to ask.

Then she turned around and cursed them. Annabeth’s DNA was everywhere. The blood on the floor, her spit, tears, hair, whatever was left over from the in-call. Even if she ran, they would find her. The alternative was to go back to Luke, to try to explain herself. She remembered a previous time she’d been denied payment. It was her 3rd time walking and the man turned out to be a swindler. Luke beat them both. Him for stealing, her for being weak enough to steal from, or in his words, “too stupid.” Luke was not an option.

She could only run. She needed money, enough to get out of the city and as far away as possible that night.

Tearing through his belongings, Annabeth searched frantically for any spare cash. Dressers, drawers, anything that wasn’t bolted to the ground. At this point it would look like she robbed him at gunpoint, but it mattered little. After murder, what they charged her with was pointless. No judge would pardon a whore.

Annabeth breathed heavily in the center of a destroyed office. The only room left was the bedroom. She’d never been in there after all his calls. He’d asked to do it practically everywhere but there. The parlor, the bathroom, the kitchen, the balcony, anywhere but his bedroom. She thought it was his kink until now.

Her powerful legs came in handy once again. The door swung open, the bolt ripping part of the wood off the wall. The room was immaculately clean, just like the rest of his house. Silver drapes outlined large, tinted windows and thick dark grey rugs framed an enormous king-sized bed. His dressers featured expensive handles and shelved priceless artifacts. It was perfect to a fault, for it could have been a museum display and none would have been the wiser. It seemed a fittingly cold place for a similarly cold man.

Three large safes lined the far wall, just under the windows. The first two were shut tight, but the third was slightly ajar. Her prayers had been answered. In it was a stack of hundreds tied neatly together resting on top of a small briefcase. Annabeth grabbed the cash and stuffed it into her bag, ready to bolt. She glanced at her phone. It had been three minutes since she’d run to the bathroom. Time was running out, but an urging, prodding force ate at her. The briefcase seemed to draw her in, enticing Annabeth with its unknown contents.

Listening for any sound of others, she unbolted the briefcase to find a small stack of documents bound with a paperclip. The cover read _KRONOS_ in stylized gold filigree calligraphy. Underneath, a single name in small black print. Luke Castellan.

As if her hands had a mind of their own, Annabeth jammed the paperwork into her bag, slamming the case shut and bolting towards the door. The police and ambulances were likely on their way, if not already there. Sickly, the sheer height of the fall might have served to benefit her. It would take at least a few minutes to identify the body or even come up with a guess. Ample time for her to escape into the night and taxi-hop upstate.

She carefully stepped out of the apartment into the private elevator corridor. Thankfully, this client had been wealthy enough to never share. All she needed was an uninterrupted elevator ride down. If others got on, especially at higher floors, she risked being identified or caught before she could leave the scene. She prayed no one saw the elevator go up to the penthouse floor.

The first eleven floors went by smoothly. Nothing but silence in the lavish carriage. The mirrored walls taunted Annabeth. She couldn’t manage to look at herself, to face the person forever changed behind those steely grey eyes of hers. If she thought life was tough before, the coming days, weeks, months, and years would be her worst, one way or another. Assuming she lived that long.

The elevator slowed to a halt. The deceleration was near imperceptible. Panic welled up in her throat. She felt like she was going to vomit. Annabeth’s jaw clenched and she forced herself to look occupied in her phone, scrolling aimlessly, too fast to read.

A man with long dirty-blonde hair entered. He was wearing a floral Hawaiian shirt. His shorts were tight against his toned skin and he looked as though he’d just come back from a day of surfing. It was the middle of the night. With him he brought the light smell of pomegranates and ocean breeze, not what Annabeth expected from a tenant in a building for the one percent of the one percent. He didn’t appear interested in Annabeth, though the jacket did well to cover most of her body. She hoped the old man smell would make most people uninterested.

They rode down in silence through the lower floors, slowly reaching ground level. She would either be caught here or make it out. This was the tipping point. There was likely no New York traffic right now. All that mattered was whether a police car had been in the vicinity at the time of death and how long it took for someone to call the police. Her chances were not great. It had already been at least ten minutes since he fell.

The elevator doors parted and revealed a chaotic scene. The lobby to the building was wide, but she could see people crowded feverishly around the far end. Police lights lit up the walls and sirens blared. Her only chance was to quickly exit on this side and move diagonally through the blocks until she could find a cab away from listening distance.

As Annabeth was about to step out of the elevator, she caught the man staring intently at her with large bright blue eyes. They were like the color of the summer sky. She faltered for a moment, unable to wrest control her gaze. There was no cruelty in them, only an intense interest. He seemed to look through her, past her even, directly into her being for what seemed like an eternity.

And then he blinked, the moment gone.

She quickly composed herself and briskly exited the building, glancing back to see if the man was following her. He simply stood outside the elevator, watching her retreat.

That was not good.

Police circled what was probably the body of her client. He had fallen onto solid concrete with not a thing to break his fall. It was as she had hoped. No way to identify the body, but that mattered little now. They had likely only just arrived, or they would have swarmed the elevators. She was baffled at their incompetence, or possibly their laziness. It wasn’t what she would have done.

Free from the stress of escaping the building, Annabeth walked quickly, avoiding main streets and zigzagging through city blocks to avoid being in proximity. She couldn’t tell how far she had walked, but she guessed it had been at least ten blocks. Enough to hail a cab and start her life on the run.

She waved down a van and quickly hopped in the back, eager to avoid showing the driver her face.

“Amsterdam and 186th,” she said, automatically. It was far enough from midtown but not too far to arouse suspicion. From there she could take another up to Dobbs Ferry then catch a train further beyond, maybe even to Albany. She would have to head west from there, outside the jurisdiction of state troopers. Only a warrant would bring her back, one she intended to avoid entirely.

Then it hit her. There would be no going back to her apartment. Not that she had any attachment to the hovel, but her Yankees cap was there. Her books, her drawings, her studies, everything that had meant anything to her was there. She would never see Ms. Barn again. Never spend a Tuesday afternoon ogling the giants of prehistoric America. Never walk down 5th Avenue and marvel at the architectural wonders of art deco New York. It was over for her.

Tears welled up in her eyes, streaming down her face as she sobbed uncontrollably in the back of the taxi van. She could feel her heart breaking for herself, a moment of profoundly deep self-pity that she had always tried to avoid. It never did any good. But now, alone, tired, scared, and on the run, Annabeth felt that last shred of dignity and pride shrivel. She was a friendless, rootless, ruined soul destined to wander her self-made hellscape for the rest of her life.

Some twenty minutes later, Annabeth managed to dry her eyes and look out the window. The run-down buildings of uptown New York flew by. They were close to her destination, but then she would have to find another. She was thankful this particular cabbie wasn’t the talkative kind. She didn’t think she could bear to have a conversation with anyone yet.

Sniffling loudly, Annabeth attempted to unclog her nose. She had been crying for so long her face was completely red and her nose dripped everywhere. More DNA evidence, she guessed. She blew her nose into a tissue from her bag, careful not to expose the bright lettering of the stolen document. Now that it was in her possession, she couldn’t explain why she had wasted the time to steal it. It was as if the document had a mind of its own and willed it into her hands. There was nothing to be gained from having it, and if anything, it only served to risk her identity in the future.

She wiped her nose once more, glad to finally be able to breathe. Just as she was feeling the tiniest bit calmer, she smelled it. Pomegranates and ocean breeze. Her head snapped over to the driver’s seat where the same blonde man from the elevator drove quietly. He had not made a sound the entire drive. He sat motionless, only slightly moving his hands to turn the wheel. But when she looked at rear view mirror, a scream caught in her throat. He was staring right at her with the same piercing blue eyes.

She jammed her thumb into the side door lock and kicked open the door, trusting her fate with tumbling through traffic more than her second encounter with whatever that man was. Annabeth tumbled out onto a curb, rolling onto her bad side and denting her already cracked ribs on the edge of the curb. She screamed in pain, but newfound panic forced her up as she stumbled away into a nearby alley.

The other side of the alley was some twenty feet away. It was at least a five-minute drive from the other side, but Annabeth guessed that the man would follow her on foot. He would follow her anywhere, it seemed. She limped towards the end, panting and coughing her way there. Her mind was completely blank. Sirens rang in the distance. All plans were out the window. There was simply no way she could out-maneuver the police and whatever it was that was following her. How he had managed to track her and position himself to be her cab driver creeped Annabeth out.

Finally, she reached the end of the alley. She could go north and hope to catch the subway out of the city or she could go east and hide in the riverside parks until she lost his trail. The train was the best bet. She needed to get out of the city.

Just as Annabeth was turning, she saw a hand reach out from around the corner. She was too slow, too hurt to avoid it. The man grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back into the alley. For a moment she feared it was the blonde man again.

When she looked up, a pair of vibrant sea green eyes met hers.

He was back.


End file.
